A look back, College

I am now sadly a few short days away from completing my college career and venturing out into a world that I doubt will condone the particular lifestyle that was a trademark of my time here. That lifestyle in brief consisted of senseless, excessive, and unhealthy amounts of drinking that were not restricted by conventional means such as days of the week or classes the next day. Another feature of the time spent here has to be my precocious aptitude for putting myself into the most ridiculous of situations only to barely escape with stories that border on surreal and disgusting. Alcohol was inevitably linked with almost each of these unconventional encounters and as the hours dwindle and I see my end here fast approaching I have compiled a short list or homage to the most interesting and entertaining college moments in my life. This will be part of a recurring series so you will have to stay tuned for the next entry.

The Fabled Beer Pong Championship

Entering freshman year my senses were overloaded with a constant stream of new experience and information. However, one high school classic remained and served to bring it all together. Beer pong, or Beirut (I’ve never had two people tell me the exact same difference between the two) is a game of hand eye coordination, alcohol tolerance, and focus. I have never possessed any of these qualities, but on a warm September Thursday night back in 2004 none of that mattered.

The noise from the party easily reached the elevators and the stench of weed was unmistakable; the fact that RAs didn’t crash the party and bust us all was a minor miracle in itself. I walked into a dimly lit room with the three beds thrown against the walls to create space in the center for the arena of attraction. It rested there like a deck of champions residing insecurely above two rocking chairs. The table was a closet door that had been unhinged and laid out over two of the desk chairs kindly provided by NYU. In college when it comes to drinking games everyone is Mcguyver.

I have a history of streaky beer pong play, easily going from 3 cups in a row to 3 nights in a row without hitting a cup. I stepped up amid a crowd of boozed out freshman to begin filling the ten red party cups with the forty of Coors Light purchased from the deli around the corner. My opponent would be my current roommate and former teammate from the soccer team, a cocky asshole whos confidence in beer pong and other feats of coordination and drinking would border on ludicrous if he didn’t back them up almost 99% of the time. We were each partnered by girls that would only prove to be insignificant bystanders in the greatest game ever played.
As the music blared in the background I watched as my opponent made his first three shots in a row and then his ex girlfriend also lucked out in making one forcing us to send the balls back. Swiftly he drained yet another. They made five before we made one. The crowd was growing restless and nearing booing us off the table calling the game a blowout and asking for the next round to start.

I was tense. The last thing I wanted to do was look like some sort of inexperienced loser in front of these new classmates. I was starting to feel a little buzzed after downing four out of the five cups and a chugging a forty before the game had begun. I scooped the ping pong ball out of the water cup threw it up in the air, spinning the excess water from the ball. Without thinking I caught the ball and mindlessly threw it up and succeeded in making our first cup. I breathed a sigh of relief. Then amazingly my partner equaled my feat and the balls were sent back. I repeated the previous ritual, too buzzed to focus on any one cup. The quick splash brought the crowd back into it and we had a game on our hands.

It was at this point I started yelling obscenities and nonsensical insults. After they missed their shots I again made mine and suddenly we were only one behind. After another few rounds we were behind again, one cup to three. And I watched helplessly as my roommate made the last cup. To stay in the game we now had to make all three of their last cups. My teammate inevitably missed her shot and so it was left to me. The next two players were already pushing their way through the crowd getting ready to take our place. By this point I was categorically drunk and with the ball wedged between my thumb, index, and middle finger I lofted it toward the triangle of red. IN. Without thinking, I took the other ball and repeated. IN. Now everyone in the party was as engaged in the match as a room full of drunk college students could be. The music was turned down and people were screaming their predictions. One cup and I would bring this game to over time. I steadied myself a bit, repeated my by now sacred ritual, and tossed reflexively toward the last remaining red plastic cup. It grazed the rim, slid around and dropped gently into the warm bud light.

“I am the greatest beer pong player ever! I cannot miss! I do not know how to miss!” I had never achieved such a feat in my life. Now my confidence bordered on inebriated delirium and I couldn’t stop screaming my own praises. This also boosted me to grab my partner and deliver a most likely awkward and inappropriate kiss. I couldn’t have cared less though. This baby was going to over time and as a new freshman at NYU I was the king of the moment.
One cup sudden death. The table was set, the girls were irrelevant and I made my first shot. For those of you counting that was now four cups in a row (including two glorious one cup finishes). My insane ranting was now at an all time high but not even the uncomfortable stares of those around me could quiet my euphoria. My roommate with a slight smile on his face looked straight at me and equalized. This fucker was good I thought, but I was drunk and invincible. Sober Matt he would’ve crushed a thousand times over but the processes of my mind and beer pong ability had transcended my normal state. After seeing my partner miss her cup yet again I took the ball threw it up in the air a couple of times, gathered myself and incredibly made my third one cup in a row.

“I cannot miss! I do not know how to miss! I am a beer pong God!” I threw my arms in the air like some self aggrandizing freak beckoning all to worship my divinity. People were now chanting in disbelief at the epic battle that had enveloped the party. I was incredibly on the verge of completing the greatest of comebacks until my bastard opponent still with all the confidence in the world threw in another perfect shot. If my form mirrored that of Jackie Chan’s legend of the drunken master, always on cusp of falling apart in an unbalanced mess, my adversary’s technique was impeccable and textbook. It was now a clash of drunk expressionism and engineered functionality.

I was beginning to believe he might’ve been a robot the way he kept dropping in shots like he could’ve done it for hours while I seemed always on the verge of missing, but I didn’t. I made my sixth cup in a row and in the midst of my overzealous celebrating dared him to answer. I had made six cups in a row, including three one cups, and had no idea how lady luck had lifted me to such heights. I could tell how surprised he was that I had made yet another shot, putting him under enough pressure that I’m sure even a robot felt. And he did, and he crumbled. I knew he would miss when that damn smirk had left his face and sure enough to ball sailed through the air bouncing just wide.

I jumped up and down like a mad man giving high fives to anyone that would lift their hands and some that didn’t. I had come back from three cups down in the final hour and had prevailed. I went on to win two more games in a row that night and continued that streak of six cups in a row that game to my first five cups in the next game. But none compared to the drama and excitement in my greatest game ever played. I used stories of that fantastic match as a pick up line for the next three months until people inevitably told me to “shut the hell up about that already.” Well here I am four years later still talking about it, beat that assholes!

As a side note, my opponent that game and current roommate would go on to beat me approx 143 times in a row afterwards, until I beat him again in a one v one match on his 21st bday which eerily mirrored that very game played so long ago.